Zadie Smith Goes Short
I’m tempted to compare literature as we know it with Monday Night Football. Maybe it would be more accurate to compare the promotion of literature to MFN, an event that rarely surpasses itself after the reflexive are you ready for some football anthem. Hell, yes. I’m ready for anything.
So the promtional question of the day is this: was Zadie Smith misquoted? Did she express surprise at being shortlisted for the Mann-Booker? Is she fed up with reality television, glamour, the pursuit of celebrity or is she the victim of misrepresentation? These are some of the thoughts I had during the breast free halftime extravanganza, and for one horrible moment, a Howard Cosell flashback wherein Howard manually strangles Frank Gifford while Kathy Lee does somersaults. I said I was ready for anything.
I read White Teeth last year, got it from the library, defying Mean Librarian who had her game face about fines. Fine me, seize my card, force me to watch I Love Lucy. Attitude, Zadie, that’s what book promotion is all about. I can’t help but think you could handle Regis Philbin without breaking a sweat, without resorting to an articulate cascade of insults. You may sense, Zadie, that Kelly Ripa’s enthusiasm for your book is precisely the same as her joy in discovering a firm but not overripe eggplant. Don’t be discouraged. Somewhere, high on the hill, Oprah awaits, your Beatrice, manning the gates of heaven. Take Virgil by the hand, Zadie, and follow his lead to the Barnes & Noble parking lot in Eau Claire, Wisconsin for the nation’s first book signing, tail-gate party. Now you’re ready for some football.